Three Sapphire Horns
by NullNoMore
Summary: You know all those boring fetch quests? BLADE Wolf is on a hunt for materials, and it is neither boring nor ordinary. Didn't even need a tyrant to manage that, but if fate sends one, Wolf won't argue. Sequel to "New Faces", and featuring the scary bald trainer Wolf and the Prone Miss Duna Valdileo. All the good stuff belongs to Monolith Soft.


**Three Sapphire Horns and a Ring Stone**

 **a/n: You know all those boring fetch quests? BLADE Wolf is on a hunt for materials, and it is neither boring nor ordinary. Didn't even need a tyrant to manage that, but if fate sends one, Wolf won't argue.**

 **All the real stuff, the good stuff, belongs to Monolith Soft and their incredible art design team, oh glory. Wolf and Duna are theirs too, but I'm taking serious liberties with those darlings. (FYI: Wolf is the scary bald trainer that stands by the mission board, now working on the Ma-non ship , training xenos, with the help of the beautiful Tree Clan Prone, Miss Duna Valdileo. At least in my head. See "New Faces" for how that started.)**

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Wolf had been a soldier for a long time, even before, on Earth. He understood obedience and combat. Everything he knew screamed against what he was about to do. He'd never been this selfish. If it went badly, it would be potentially treasonous but, then again, he would be beyond punishment.

The first part, in Oblivia, had been easy. He'd even found an excuse to be there, a short training mission for his new xeno students, learning how to efficiently place recentl developed offensive probes. The small group had bumbled their way almost randomly, before finally recognizing the obvious FrontierNav site. It was a reminder that human vision did not match that of the other species. Even before they were a click away, he saw the red beacon rising above the swells of greyish yellow sand, but it made no impression on his students. He'd need to find a way to train them to use their own skills to make their way forward. Something to study up on, back on the Ma-non ship, when all this was over. While the others congratulated themselves on their accomplishment (and it it it only took 2 hours, okay?), he'd casually traced the sand, until he saw it, a tiny thing, shape mimicking the massive sunken ring it lay beside. It was plain, and jagged. Not a gift he'd gladly give another, not without the second half.

He'd found his way to the edge of Noctilum a few days later. This time alone, with no permission. He'd told no one his destination. If he got into trouble, it would only be him to suffer. His stomach churned with the knowledge that he was betraying everything he tried so hard to beat into his students. He knew it was stupid, insanely so, to go anywhere on Mira alone, but there wasn't anyone he could ask for company. He'd risk his own life, but no one else's. How could he, when he knew the mission was pointless, even if it succeeded?

Three sapphire horns, that was what was required. It was an accident, how he'd learned about it, overhearing the other human resident of the Port Side of the Ma-non ship, as the younger man explained the procedures and the purposes behind the materials. God bless the Ma-non, with their endless curiosity, and complete lack of hesitation in asking personal questions. Wolf let them ask the questions for their own reasons, and he collected the answers for his. People looked at Wolf and heard shouting, even when he was silent. They didn't notice how often he was quiet, listening. In the course of a few weeks, he'd learned many things about the Prone, but this fact was useful in a way like no other. Three sapphire horns and that ring stone, that was all he needed.

It had been a long run, starting early, just before night switched to day. He hadn't taken a partner, and he hadn't taken a skell. Both of those things required answers he didn't have, to questions he himself was trained to ask. So he'd run. He crossed the Primordia plains as the sun not so much rose as appeared. When was the last time he'd been out here? At the defense of New Los Angeles, probably. He'd done his part, against an endless wave of dull mechanical foes and other, more personal enemies, under a filthy pouring rain. This day, by comparison, was perfection itself, with the slightest hint of fog that highlighted the curves of the land, making his course that much easier to distinguish.

He'd avoided the main paths, preferring to go cross country. It wasn't to save time. He wanted to avoid observation. People noticed things, and then started asking questions he didn't feel like trying to answer. This changed when he reached Noctilum. At the narrow entrance, he'd been precise in his footfalls, directly in the center of the wear marks. That was the best way to avoid the ivory flowers that would rise up, ringing like clattering chimes, and attack you mindlessly. It had been even longer since he'd passed this way, and he was shocked at how bright the narrow pass was, practically a cavern in structure, but lit like daylight from the wondrous phosphorescent flowers that bloomed throughout the Nighttime Forest.

The journey through Noctilum wasn't exactly simple. He was harassed by various indigen who were pissed by his very presence. Low level insects he killed, larger foes he outran. He kept a careful distance from the largest tyrants, legitimate skell killers even if their body statistics suggested the opposite. Once he reached the Elephant's Trunk, the narrow land bridge that linked upper and lower Noctilum, he dove down into the waters below and swam.

He'd made for the nearest beach, and had moved quickly forward, clambering over longer stretches of water and more dangerous enemies using the roots and vines that criss-crossed the continent. He hesitated a moment when he spotted some ocean xiphias. But even if he could have managed them, they swam too far out for him to make a stand. Keep with the plan, he told himself. Patience would bring lower level variations, and it wasn't all that far to go.

He reached Frotier Nav Site 209 as the sky was changing to sunset rose, and the twinkling of stars was replacing the glowing pollen of daytime. The site was set on a middling rise, a wide grassy cliff facing west. He scanned the ocean, trying to spot his final target. A dimple on the water, marked possibly by some ocean birds, not quite on the horizon but still a decent swim. He started on the last leg of his journey.

The distant beach proved quiet and small, marked by a rock and some Whale wreckage, a memento of their violent arrival. A good storm would remove both, probably. But the ocean here was shallow enough to make a good battle ground, if wet. No other indigen to get involved. Nothing but kilometers of water, a stretch of submerged sand, and a handful of beach xiphias. They could best be described as electric floating narwhal, one long blue horn spiraling from their beaks, traces of sparks dripping from their lobed fins. Smaller than grex, not particularly aggressive. Even in a bunch, he could pick them off singly, finishing one before targeting the next. He listened to the creatures calling to each other for a moment. Then he set his rifle at the ready and aimed at the closest, hoping to draw it towards him. It worked as he had planned. Its attacks pushed him along the sand, but he had done his research, selected electrical attacks, and was ready.

At some point, he stopped and looked over the waters, at the great moon, the one the Nopon called Mamapon and the humans called Majora, resting against the southern half of Noctilum. He'd been fighting for some hours, waiting patiently for new indigen to replace the ones he had killed. Still without completing his mission. The drops were maddeningly rare, much fewer than his intel had indicated. One more to go, and the creatures were not returning as quickly, or in the same numbers. He shoulders ached, and his jaw, and he wasn't enjoying the prospect of a long swim and a longer run home.

From the edge of the area, out of the deep water surrounding this sandy spot, he saw a swell. Not a natural wave, but the rush of water pushed away by something huge and rising. He stood, ready. The waters parted, pouring from the body of a xiphias like none he had ever seen, not in the flesh, not in any research. A deep ocean xiphias, where none had ever been recorded. A tyrant xiphias, that no one had ever named. Easily three times the size of any of its kin, unrecognizable except in shape. Even its color was novel, indigo so dark that he wouldn't have been able to see it against the night sky except for the lace of ether it draped from its fins.

He was breathless in wonder as it rose up straight into the sky, sillhouted against the great moon. It arched up and over in a perfect circle, then came to rest, horn pointed directly at him, hovering over the water's surface.

Wolf was a soldier, and had been in battle, on Earth as well as on Mira. His skills as a trainer came just as much from practice as study. He'd taught his charges to keep their weapons ready. His were ready now, but he didn't act to use them. He taught his charges to look for an advantage. He looked for nothing from this creature. He insisted that his trainees be honest in their assessment of their abilities and chance of success, even if it didn't change their actions. This one skill remained to him. He knew he had no chance, and he was only faintly alarmed to find he didn't care.

One thing he could never teach his charges, although he tried, was the nature of emotions that battle provided. He could tell them about that, and they wouldn't believe or understand that these things were natural and without moral implication. He could barely explain the simple ones, like fatigue or fear, never mind the ones he could barely understand himself. The relieved excitement, necessary and proper at the time, but sickening when seen at a distance, regardless of justification. The mindless wish that it would just be over, and the dread that the end was both closer and farther than he thought. The drive to see things to the end, furious, unyielding, blind, and the begging prayer that if only God would come down from his heaven and put a halt to the conflict, he himself would lay down in complete gratitude, whatever the outcome. He knew these, had felt them against man and then against the nameless ones that had destroyed his home and most recently against the Ganglion that would have destroyed everything that remained.

Now he felt none of these. The creature rose up slightly, a nodding acknowledgement. He raised his chin in response. The fight began.

When he aimed at the slender horn, hoping to break it, the creature did not receive the blows. The horn accepted the electrical attacks as shadow accepts sunlight. When Wolf fell back, unable to move, almost unable to keep to his feet, he had not been staggered. He had been placed in exactly the position he was destined to be. He aimed where the creature wished him to aim, along its back or at the tail. The creature struck him as Wolf needed to be struck, ether pouring into him. Both fighters breathed in and out, but time was not measured between them. There was no will, no fear, but a dance of natural correctness, a nice as mathematics, as certain as space.

Wolf had quietly listened to other things, back on the Ma-non ship, spoken among the Prone. How the beasts of their home world were as much a part of their society as the Prone themselves. Older Prone lectured the younger males to be patient, to wait for the right time to strike, as shown by the enemy. The last blow should always be invited by the beast itself. Wolf had listened, and hadn't understood. The last step of learning you must always do yourself.

At some point, he'd switched to his melee weapon, a sword (that would be Slair II, Grenada's finest). The xiphias parried his attacks just as Wolf was able to turn its blows. Finally, he skimmed the blade across the side of the creature, even managing to scrape one of the explosive glowing sacs from along the ridge of its back. In balanced payment, the creature's fin burned the length of his right arm, numbing it. Wolf felt himself weaken drastically. One deep breath, and he turned and focused everything against the horn, which remained unbroken even though it had received the bulk of his attacks. Everything in this one blow, this was the time. Maybe because the beast was inviting it, as the Prone had promised, more likely because his self-assessment couldn't promise anything beyond this last strike.

The edge of the sword struck exactly the base of the horn, and Wolf pivoted his whole body, to twist the blade against his enemy. But this was never his enemy, nor his opponent. As he saw the glowing horn splinter from the creature's head, he felt something shifting. He'd feel this again, he hoped, one more time, at the end of his life.

Time resumed. The waves moved against the shore, tugging at the motionless tyrant. The moons didn't move, locked as they were in the sky, but they began to fade against the rising light of morning. Wolf collected the horn, not sapphire like the others, but the same dark indigo of the creature. It was almost black except for the glow he swore still lingered about it. This single horn was large enough to provide all the materials he needed, unmixed with the horns of its lesser cousins, brave adversaries though they had been. He held it and felt grateful that here was something worthy of his purpose, even if he never completed the ring, nor gave this gift, except within his heart.

Fanciful, that's what this is, he snorted, as he walked slowly up higher onto the beach. He stored the horns, even the smaller ones, away carefully. Even more carefully, he cleaned his weapons and readied them for the swim back. Then there was nothing left but a day and a half of swimming, climbing and running until he reached the Ma-non ship again. Not easy, but not important.

He also dodged any explanations through the whole route. He'd taken leave time, so people knew not to seek him out. The Ma-non inhabitants assumed he was in NLA central. He was under no illusion that anyone in NLA cared where he had been, but if they did, they would assume he was on the Ma-non ship. Eleonora knew, possibly, but she hadn't stopped him before he left, and she hadn't reigned him in before he crossed into Noctilum, so she had tacitly given up any right to call him on his actions.

Except, he couldn't quite avoid all notice. His partner in the xeno training scheme, Duna Valdileo, a darker blue than the lesser xiphias horns and just as sharp, stormed up to him as he re-entered the port hall of the Ma-non ship. Her hand, flat on his chest, would have stopped him instantly, even if he hadn't been dead tired. "BLADE Wolf, I am not pleased with you."

"Miss Duna?" he responded, politely.

"You think I do not recognize the look of guilt on your face? Have you not met my younger brother and sister? They have given me years of experience, and I find I am as adept at reading humans as I am at reading naughty Prone children."

The scolding made Wolf smile, but tiredly. "I'm sorry I've displeased you, ma'am. What have I done?"

"Oooohhhh!" Duna gave the same muffled bellow that angry Prone mothers have been making since Prone children were created. "Now you wear a mask of innocence! Enough! You have not been here nor in the city below for almost three days."

"I was on leave. I made an official request. Do I need to keep you informed too?"

"You abandoned us. It was all I could do to calm your students. Ma-nons are not known for patience, nor are my people, really. Wolf, what trouble have you been causing?" Her husky voice dropped to calmer level. "You were missed, even if you were on leave. Next time, do not make me worry."

"No, ma'am." He really could barely stand, he was so exhausted.

Perhaps she noticed this, or the wear on his uniform, or the smell of half of Noctilum and Primordia from his head to his boots. She gave a small bow and spoke. "Your leave seems far from restful. I am sure you have a full day planned for your students tomorrow. I will scold you another time." She shrugged, her blue shoulders rolling back and her head drooping just a little. "I have little enough else to do."

When she moved to let him pass, he turned to face her. "This isn't the time, Miss Duna, but I've got a request. Your people leave your dead to feed monsters, correct?"

"This is far from the time!" she responded sharply.

"But that _is_ what you do, correct?"

"We give our loved ones to feed the great beasts that feed us, so that their spirits may go on to protect us through the greatest of creatures. The names of those animals protect our children."

"I would ask that you do the same for me. On a small island, far west of the upper Nightglow Land."

"You speak in an untimely way, Wolf."

"When the time comes, there'll be something waiting for me there. I'd like you to make sure we meet again."

"I may not live so long."

"You will, and your children."

"I have none." Her tone was bitter.

"And your grandchildren. Please."

She gazed at him, then bowed her head again, in a regal gesture that he had come to love so much. He grunted his thanks before returning to his tiny quarters, a shimmering Ma-non sleep pod. He cleaned his weapons again and restored his uniform to as much of its original state as possible, even mending one small rip on the right shoulder. Only then did he take out the dearly acquired materials. The tyrant horn fell into pieces that fit the ring stone even more perfectly than he had expected, and the final ring lay in his hand and twinkled. He put it gently in a pocket of the armor he wore daily.

Someday, Miss Duna Valdileo would have all the family she deserved. The Prone were not so stupid as to ignore her beauty and intelligence forever. Eventually, a male _would_ figure it out. Until then, there existed one ring, ready for her, even if it would never be used. Even if she never knew of it, he hoped its existence could somehow give her comfort. He wasn't sure how, but weird things happened on Mira, that he knew. Perhaps her children or grandchildren would wonder at this ring, left by an old friend of the family. He hoped it would be many years from now.

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 **A/n: Oh, these two deserve each other, I want that so bad. I have a plan for them, I swear. It involves Scooby Doo and the saddest Prone on the ship, plus a confirmed bachelor.**

 **At a certain point, I almost went film noir. "But down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid." Raymond Chandler, "The Simple Art of Murder", whooo, now that's an essay for ya, on what a genre hero should be! Has somebody re-written it for video games yet? Because somebody (not me) should.**


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